


The True Romantic

by Riadasti



Series: Know Your Own Happiness [1]
Category: Sense and Sensibility (TV 2008), Sense and Sensibility - All Media Types, Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Marianne and Colonel Brandon learn to love again, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28648857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riadasti/pseuds/Riadasti
Summary: "Colonel Brandon is an exceptional man, I think. What sadness he has known. He kept faithful to his first love, even after she had been torn away from him, even after she was dead. He is the true romantic, I think."Based mostly on the 2008 TV version of Sense and Sensibility. A study of Marianne and Colonel Brandon's courtship and eventual marriage.
Relationships: Colonel Brandon/Marianne Dashwood
Series: Know Your Own Happiness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107797
Comments: 14
Kudos: 51





	1. Gesture of Gratitude

Marianne Dashwood found herself in a challenging situation—again. She had been determined not to fall into more dramatic hysterics as before, such as falling into bed weeping or starving herself in a vain attempt at bringing back a love that was not hers to begin with.

Yet she was alarmed to find herself soaked to the bone and lying in a senseless heap on the wet earth. She chided herself, willing her body to move, but it was no use. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, just as the heavens above let loose another crackling, rolling peal of its own. She imagined she heard her name being called out on the wind. Again, she tried to lift her head, but the world only began to swim around her.

Suddenly, to arms had wrapped themselves around her—and she was staring into the face of Colonel Brandon.

He was speaking urgently to her, but she couldn’t hear him over the pounding of her own heart. After a moment, she realized he was asking her a question.

“Can you stand a moment, Miss Dashwood?”

“I—shall endeavor to do so,” she said, her voice alarmingly hoarse.

He set her to the ground and pressed her hands against the bridle of his horse, which she gripped with all her might so that she might not fall again. In one fluid motion, he mounted his horse and drew her up into the saddle. If she were in a more fit state of mind, she might have marveled at his strength.

Instead, she gazed blearily into his face as he spurred his horse into a violent gallop. It was an uncomfortable ride perched sidesaddle in front of him, and in this moment she ignored propriety and wrapped her arms around him for dear life. His face was pinched and drawn, but there was a firm determination underpinning his concern that heartened her.

The edges of her vision began to grow dark once more, and she felt her head fall heavily against his chest.

“Stay with me, Marianne,” he said, his voice rumbling against her ear.

She did as she was told and resumed her unabashed study of his features. It seemed to be the only thing that kept her conscious for the moment.

Marianne wanted to speak to him, to express her deepest regrets and most heartfelt gratitude, but her throat felt suddenly as though she had swallowed a stone. In fact, it was nearly impossible to swallow at all.

 _Well, now, you_ have _put yourself in another delicate situation, haven’t you?_ She silently chided herself, feeling ultimately ashamed. It hadn’t been her intention that morning to get lost or caught in the rain. These things seemed to just happen to her.

Or perhaps, she reasoned with herself, she placed herself in these dangerous situations to begin with.

And that was the last coherent thought she recalled as Colonel Brandon brought his horse to a sudden halt. He dismounted, and she collapsed into his arms once again. She felt light as a feather in his grasp—almost reminiscent of when Willoughby—and here, she lost consciousness once more.

“She must be stripped and chafed all over. I’ve seen this one too many times,” Colonel Brandon’s voice brought her back from the brink once more.

She opened her eyes and found him standing over her, his fingers tangled in the front laces of her dress. He was rain-soaked, and he smelled of damp grass and mud.

On meeting her gaze, he faltered and stepped back.

And she plunged into darkness once again.

\--

Colonel Brandon paced agitatedly in the outer room. He listened to the low voices on the other side of the door, and he watched the comings and goings of the servants with a piercing intensity. He hoped he had been swift enough. He hoped it was not too late.

An image was brought to mind—that of Marianne lying senseless on the bed and gazing up at him. She had been gasping for air, and he had been about to remove her dress. But her gaze brought him firmly and steadily back to his senses. And he had had to relieve his post into the capable hands of his servants and her sister, Elinor.

“Poor Miss Marianne,” Miss Jennings lamented, as she had been doing for nearly an hour. “She gets her share of misfortunes.”

Colonel Brandon said nothing in reply but resumed his pacing in front of the fire.

Suddenly, steps were heard on the stairs, and he turned to find Elinor, pale and drawn.

“How is she?” he said, stepping towards her.

“She’s a little recovered. She asked to see you, Colonel.”

He might have leapt up the stairs to her side, but propriety kept his pace at a slow, painful, deliberate speed. He entered the room and found Marianne propped up in bed with many pillows. Her eyes were glassy as they took in his figure.

She said nothing, but the plea on her face was clear enough. He gently seated himself beside her and hesitated before reaching out and resting his palm atop her clasped hands. And then with one single motion, Colonel Brandon found himself lost to hope once more.

Marianne withdrew one of her hands and gently rested it across his. He stared at their clasped hands, feeling his pulse quicken at the significance of that delicate movement. He glanced up and found she had drifted to sleep.

He allowed himself a small moment in quiet study of her as she breathed deeply. Perhaps it had merely been a gesture of gratitude.

But perhaps it had meant a bit more.


	2. The Vanity of Human Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are too old and unattractive to her, he reminded himself, even as he felt her gaze follow him as he mounted his horse.

Marianne found herself moving in and out of consciousness in the days or perhaps weeks following—she had no sense of time passing. She would recollect that her sister was there beside her, and sometimes she wondered if Colonel Brandon was also there. But the moment she felt as though she could focus on one single moment, it had passed.

There were many troubled days where it felt as though she were breathing underwater. She reached out to the people around her, often finding that they hadn’t been there at all. She tried to cry out for her sister, her mother, her father—and even Colonel Brandon.

It was a time of confused images and experiences that refused to coalesce into sensible order.

Until one morning, she felt her hand pressed against someone’s cheek. She turned her head and opened her eyes, feeling for once that she was experiencing the moment in real time.

It was her sister, Elinor. Her dearest, truest friend in all the world.

They spoke to each other, cried, and felt at last that the danger had passed.

And the next day, Mother arrived—and truly, all was finally right with Marianne’s world.

Almost all of it, in fact. She had one last task that weighed heavily on her. Once she was permitted to stand and move about on her own, she insisted on relocating to the library, where her mother and sister could keep a watchful eye on her. It took some convincing, but she eventually managed to coerce her sister and mother into a walk outside.

“I shall be perfectly contented here by the window, I assure you. And Nancy is just a touch of a bell away. Please, I implore you both to get some air, or Elinor runs the risk of turning as pale and peaky as myself!”

Mother and Elinor were at last won over. The sunshine had been a temptation they had avoided for fear of leaving Marianne alone. When she was at last by herself, she reached for the bell in order to ring for Nancy. She wished to call on Colonel Brandon.

Instead, a gentle footstep was heard at the door, and she glanced up to find the object of her thoughts manifest in front of her.

“Colonel Brandon, good morning,” she said, rising to her feet.

“Please, do not get up on my account,” he said, moving to her side and placing a hand on her upper arm.

“I am quite alright, I assure you,” she said, giving him a soft smile. He was always so concerned with her welfare.

Once she had seated herself, she indicated the chair across from her.

“I had a wish to speak with you,” she said. “It was fortuitous that you found me here.”

The side of his mouth lifted in a returning smile. It was unusual to see such an expression on his usually hardened features. She found it had a delightful softening effect.

“I often come here to read in the mornings,” he said, taking the seat and letting his long legs stretch in front of him. “It was fortunate you chose this room, perhaps.”

Marianne glanced down. She couldn’t tell if he was making a pointed remark or simply teasing her slightly. He usually spoke with refreshing directness, but his words sometimes obscured his true meaning, which she usually gleaned from his tone or expression. Right now he was gazing at her with a mix of amusement and concern.

“To the point, Colonel Brandon, I wished to thank you for your service.” She lifted her eyes to his face where she saw a frown briefly flit across his features.

“Not at all, Miss Dashwood.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “You are too modest, Sir. You must allow me to thank you once more and insist that you saved my life.”

He leaned forward and picked at the sleeve of his shirt. “That is quite unnecessary.”

Marianne realized he was growing uncomfortable under so much direct praise.

“Yes, in fact, I was quite resigned to my fate and then, like a scene from a novel, you rode to my rescue.”

“No, no, you flatter me, Miss Dashwood,” he demurred, his neck flushing slightly beneath his loose cravat. “I was simply doing what any man would have.”

“I saw you riding towards me, like Mercury on his winged feet—”

“Now really, Mari—Miss Dashwood,” he said, meeting her gaze with a sardonic expression.

“You flew to my rescue and captured me in your arms—”

“That is quite enough,” he said, his voice betraying a laugh.

She found herself suddenly relaxed in his presence. It was a new sensation, but given all that had transpired, it was hardly expected that they would retain the same somewhat cold and polite company they kept before.

After a pause, she asked if he would read something aloud to her.

“What would you like? Shall we delve into poetry with Blake and Keats, or perhaps Byron?”

Marianne’s chest clutched at the name of the poet Byron. She struggled to wipe away the recollections of reading the words together with Willoughby, sitting side by side on the cool grass and feeling as though they were the only two people in the world.

“That displeases you, it seems,” he said.

He was very astute at reading her expressions, and she often found it unnerving.

She shook her head. “It is simply that I am feeling a bit too sober for Blake or Keats or...Byron. Perhaps a work by Samuel Johnson?”

“Very well,” he said, acquiescing with ease. He reached for a tome on the side table and opened it to the first page.

It seemed no mere coincidence that he read a selection from “The Vanity of Human Wishes.”

As he read aloud, she allowed herself to lean back against the settee and let the words wash over her. He had such a pleasant voice. It served to soothe her troubled thoughts as she recalled her own vanity and foolishness in regards to Willoughby, and as he continued to read, she felt as though the painful thorn of loss was beginning to work itself loose.

It wasn’t until she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder that she realized she had drifted to sleep.

“I do apologize, Colonel Brandon,” she said, sitting up and quickly readjusting her hair.

He was sitting at the opposite end of the settee, and he paused before standing to his feet and returning to his own chair.

“I hope it was not a comment on my reading abilities,” he said.

“Oh, heavens no,” she insisted. “In fact, it is a testament to your pleasing voice and delivery that I drifted to sleep. I am only saddened that I missed your interpretation of a few of my personal favorites.”

“Then perhaps we shall have to repeat this endeavor a different day.”

Marianne met his gaze and gave him an easy smile. “Yes, I would like that.”

\--

He had been dreading this day, but he knew it had to come. The Dashwoods couldn’t remain at Delaford forever, no matter how much he insisted it was not an imposition. They naturally longed for the comforts and pleasures of their own home. He would see her again, surely. After he returned from an errand that he had been putting off for some time.

He handed each Dashwood woman into the carriage, helping Marianne last. He thought she gripped his hand half a second longer than was necessary, and he was again filled with the foolish hope once more.

_You are too old and unattractive to her,_ he reminded himself, even as he felt her gaze follow him as he mounted his horse.

He willed himself not to turn and study her, as tempted as he was. From the corner of his vision he saw that she was, indeed, watching him quite closely from inside the carriage while he rode beside it.

They arrived at Barton Cottage within the hour, and there was a flurry of activity as the Dashwood women exited the carriage and greeted their young and excitable sister. He stood to the side, allowing the family their moment of reunion and wishing not to impose.

The rest of the family departed indoors, and they were left alone on the hillside. He did his best to school his features as she thanked him once again.

“We will see you again soon, surely?” She said, and the expectant hope in her face filled him with an uncharacteristic desire to draw her into his arms.

He clasped is hands behind his back to keep this uncouth impulse at bay, and he told her of his errand, which would keep him away a fortnight.

“We will look forward to your return,” she said.

“Yes, of course,” he said, tipping his hat and turning to leave before he was emboldened to say more than was needed in the moment.

Her eyes followed him as he departed, and he allowed himself one glance in her direction. She was smiling, and it was meant only for him. He captured that image in his mind and took it with him on his journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts so far? I always felt that Marianne and Colonel Brandon's courtship needed more fleshing out and hope I am able to give it the justice it deserves. <3


	3. The Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stood and stepped as quietly as possible across the rug, delighted at the surprise on his face when he turned to find her staring at him from the doorway.

Marianne twisted the gloves in her hand and watched the scenery pass by the carriage window. Colonel Brandon had sent his carriage specifically for her, and he had worded his invitation in such a way that Elinor and Mother found it easy to excuse themselves from the journey. She was unexpectedly anxious, wondering if after a week apart, her feelings might have changed.

The carriage came to a halt, and he was waiting to offer her his assistance down the steps. She forgot that she had removed her gloves, and she found herself enjoying the warmth of the contact between them as he clasped her hand.

And as she stared up at him, she found that her feelings had not changed in the slightest. In fact, she was convinced they had only grown stronger.

“Shall we?” he said, indicating the front door.

“What do you have planned for us today?”

“I am merely the host. This day is about you, Miss Dashwood,” he said, his tone easy and pleasant. “You are permitted to examine every inch of Delaford you wish, but I have a particular room in mind.”

They made their way up several flights of stairs, and he escorted her into an unfamiliar wing of the house. The door he opened revealed a second library. It was smaller than the first she had encountered on her last visit, but her eyes fell on a beautiful pianoforte in the corner.

“I’ll leave you to explore,” he said, maintaining his position by the door.

She turned back to him, realizing he intended to leave her alone.

When she opened her mouth to counter this suggestion, he responded, “Come and find me when you are ready.”

Marianne thanked him, relieved he didn’t intend to abandon her the entire day, and she wondered what exactly he had in store for her.

Once he departed, she glanced over the many books lining the walls, but her heart drew her to the piano. She instantly sat down and began playing the piece she had memorized—the one he had gifted her many months ago. She found herself playing it repeatedly these days, much to the chagrin of her family.

As her fingers delicately navigated the keys, she marveled at the quality of the instrument. And she wondered, as the last bars of the song faded away, whether this was the very same piano that Colonel Brandon’s lost love had once played. A soft step outside the door betrayed that he was still lingering in the hallway.

She stood and stepped as quietly as possible across the rug, delighted at the surprise on his face when he turned to find her staring at him from the doorway.

“I apologize, Miss Dashwood. I did not mean to—that is, I did not intend—”

“It’s quite alright, Colonel Brandon.” She was quick to reassure him, afraid they might lose that sense of ease between them that they had slowly gained over the last week.

“Extraordinary,” he said. “Your playing, that is.”

“Yes,” she responded with a smirk. “So you have said.”

This brought a smile to his face, but it was clear he was struggling to find the right words.

“I am not the most adept at—ah—compliments, Miss Dashwood. As you might have guessed.”

She gave him a soft hum in response and began to stroll down the hallway. He was beside her in two easy strides. They lapsed into comfortable silence as she examined the many portraits and paintings lining the walls. She occasionally asked to view specific rooms, to which he obliged willingly with one exception.

“These are my private chambers,” he said, with a self-conscious glance away from her.

She spared him any further embarrassment by changing the subject.

“Now that we have explored, what else do you have in store for us today?”

He appeared grateful for her understanding and led them back toward the main part of the house.

\--

He simply could not reconcile the image of Marianne Dashwood walking through the halls of his home. Nor could he quite fathom the easy conversation that blossomed between them. They began on the subject of music, which quickly evolved into literature and drama, and then finally, agriculture. He had been fascinated with her mind from the moment he met her. He had first been attracted to her natural beauty, but this quickly turned to respect for her musical talent and quick intellect.

He had a surprise for her, and he wondered if she would be amenable to it. At the sight of the falcon, she was instantly delighted.

“I have never seen a bird of prey so close before. What is its name?”

“Her name is Truce,” he said, showing her how to gently offer the creature a slice of dried meat.

He was careful not to allow Truce to become too agitated for fear of the sharp beak or talons causing any harm to Marianne. But she was gentle with the bird, and she showed very little fear.

“That’s sort of an unusual name, isn’t it?” she said, watching as he urged the bird from her perch onto his gloved arm.

“It is,” he said, deliberating a moment before continuing. “My brother wished to make belated amends to me after Eliza’s untimely passing. His gift was this bird.”

Marianne appeared discomfited by this statement, but nevertheless, she reached out and touched Truce’s feathers with the pad of one finger.

“She is a beautiful creature,” she said admiringly.

“Here, like this,” he said, taking Marianne’s hand and showing her how to stroke the feathers in a downward motion.

She followed his instructions, her eyes trained on the creature. And again, he had the sensation that she allowed her hand to linger a moment longer against his. It unnerved and excited him, but he did not wish to dwell on it for fear of misinterpreting an innocent gesture.

He led them both to an open portion of the grounds where Truce demonstrated her graceful flight and adherence to commands. Marianne watched with admiration.

After a time, he returned Truce to her coop and guided his young companion indoors for tea. She led the way up the stairs, and he found himself intrigued with the way she let her hand trail behind her on the bannister. It was almost as if she _wanted_ their hands to touch, like she was seeking his on the railing behind her.

He hesitated, wondering if perhaps she might recoil, yet her behavior at times gave him every indication she did not find him abhorrent. And so he allowed himself to reach higher, and their fingers met briefly on the bannister. She glanced back at him with a new sort of smile. They continued in this fashion until they reached the top of the last flight of stairs.

After a moment, he realized she was speaking to him.

“Isn’t the library this direction?” she asked, a small smirk pulling at her full lips.

“Why, yes, it is,” he said. “I must not have been attending.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've seen the series, perhaps you'll recognize the last scene on the stairs. I decided to borrow it from a scene where Marianne did the same with Willoughby, but now she is reprising it here as an offering to show Colonel Brandon that perhaps he is not as repellant to her as he once thought. ;) I'd love your feedback! What do you think so far?


	4. The Maze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each time her shoulder brushed his arm, she felt him stiffen slightly, and even through his coat, she could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

They took their tea in relative silence, enjoying the rare sunshine as it poured through the window. Servants entered and exited as they brought various food items and removed the dirty dishes once they had finished. They found themselves alone again.

“I wonder, would it be improper of me to call you by your first name?” Colonel Brandon asked suddenly. He seemed a touch on edge and anxious despite his easy manner.

She glanced at him and shook her head. “But you have already called me by my given name many times, have you not?”

He glanced away. “That is true,” he admitted. “It would be quite reasonable for you to start calling me by mine, in that case.”

She turned her head slightly. “But I do not know yours.”

He rested his head against the back of the chair. “Then I suppose you will have to guess.”

“Is it John?”

He shook his head. “A good guess—that is a common name, but it is not mine.”

She frowned. “William? Or perhaps Fitzwilliam?”

Again, no.

“George?”

He denied this as well, to which point she delved into the ridiculous.

“Edgar? Sebastian? Or perhaps Tobias?”

He laughed, and she delighted at the sound of it. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and she saw a full smile for perhaps the first time.

“Hardly. Do you relent?”

“Yes,” she said, leaning forward eagerly.

“It is James Alexander.”

She tried this name out a few times. “I quite like that,” she said. “I won’t call you both, unless you vex me, I suppose.”

He laughed again, and they lapsed into silence once more.

She noticed his ease slipping away again. She had a guess as to what might be causing it, but she felt perhaps the fresh air would rejuvenate him.

“Shall we stroll again? It has likely warmed up considerably, and the sun is still shining.”

Colonel Brandon seized on this idea at once and asked the servants to fetch his coat and a small shawl for Marianne.

Once outside again, they found their way to the elaborate hedge maze in the rear garden. She was hesitant at first, but this time she had a guide with her and there was no risk of getting lost. It seemed he was on the precipice of speaking many times, but he remained silent instead. She did her best to maintain light conversation as they meandered through the hedges, having to walk quite close together in certain sections to navigate the passages. Each time her shoulder brushed his arm, she felt him stiffen slightly, and even through his coat, she could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

They reached a small gazebo at the center of the maze, and she suggested they rest a moment.

“Is there something troubling you, James?” she asked, testing out one of his names.

At the sound of this from her lips, he turned to her and gently reached for her hand.

“I am simply trying to find the right words.”

Her heart thudded in her chest. She took his meaning, and the realization suddenly dawned on her as to the reality of the situation. She was mostly alone in a garden with Colonel Brandon, a man whom she regarded highly but had never truly respected until recently. And that respect had changed into something deeper and more meaningful. He was gazing at her quite intently now.

“Any words will do,” she said, wishing to inform him through a subtle hint that he should have no fear of rejection.

“Marianne, I have long felt—now more than ever—that we are well-suited. Would you agree?”

She nodded her head, unable just yet to speak.

“Then I wonder if I can be so bold as to ask—that is, if I can call upon your kindness to consider one such as myself, who does not deserve your youth nor your beauty to be—my wife.”

The words tumbled from his lips in a torrent, and it took her a moment to absorb their meaning.

She placed her hand atop his and felt her heart was beating so strongly that he must surely feel it through the tips of her fingers.

“Yes,” she said, finding her voice at last. “Though you do not give yourself near enough credit for your good looks and generosity. It is I who should be thanking you for your kindness.”

“Not at all,” he said, his face brimming with so much joy that it was nearly contagious.

“Marianne,” he spoke her voice in a hoarse whisper and reached up to place his wide hand against her cheek.

She felt that same radiating heat emanated from his contact against her skin. She had felt a spark between herself and Willoughby, but this was entirely different. It seemed as though Colonel Brandon burned for her.

She grew curious and, being the bold creature that she was, leaned forward and placed a kiss on his lips. The first was chaste and sweet, sealing the promise they had just made to each other. But he had soon framed her face in both of his hands and was exploring her lips with sudden fervor. One of her hands found its way across the distance to rest against the back of his neck, gently twisting a lock of his soft hair between her fingers.

She felt she could stay this way forever, but he pulled back with a soft grunt. There was a hungry expression in his eyes, but he took a steadying breath and it was gone.

“I will do everything in my power to ensure you are happy, Marianne.”

“That is impossible, Sir,” she said.

At his shocked expression, she quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek to placate him, saying, “I am already happy.”

\--

Colonel Brandon awoke the next day to find that it was a mere five days to his wedding to Marianne Dashwood, to the young woman he had loved since first meeting her. He made his call on Mrs. Dashwood to ask for her permission, which she gave gladly and with perfect willingness.

He quite liked Mrs. Dashwood, and he was relieved to receive her endorsement. She was a forthright woman who often spoke her mind—and it is no wonder now where Marianne inherited her outright nature. He also greatly admired and respected Elinor, who was a steady presence in a household of passionate women. And as for Meg, she was a spirited and delightful creature who showed signs of great intellect, just like her older siblings.

“I do think Meg likes you best of all—well, maybe not more than Edward.”

Colonel Brandon laughed, linking arms with his intended as they crested the large hill by Barton Cottage. Elinor and Edward were pulling up the rear of their little expedition while Meg ran circles around them reciting the kings and queens of England.

“There is one question I would ask of you,” he said, unable to contain his curiosity.

“Yes, anything,” Marianne said with her usual candor.

“This marriage you agreed to. It’s not—simply out of gratitude or a sense of obligation?”

Marianne stopped in her tracks and gave him the sternest look he had ever witnessed. He was tempted to laugh—it was slightly humorous after all, such an expression of outrage on those delicate features—but he restrained himself, knowing it would be unwise.

“Is that what you think?” she said.

“It is what I fear rather than believe.”

She resumed their walk, glancing behind her to see that the other party was growing closer.

“Well, then let me set your mind at ease. I wish to marry you because of my great affection for you, James, not because I feel obligated.”

He breathed an audible sigh of relief. He couldn’t help himself. It had been nagging at him for what felt like ages, since he could not reconcile his mind to the thought of this beautiful young woman actually returning his affections.

She pressed his arm. “And I hope that will be the end of any such further discussions on the matter.”

“Yes, my dear,” he said, testing the pet name and enjoying it immensely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the proposal we were waiting for but never got to see. I hope you enjoyed it! There will be more. <3
> 
> (Fun fact - Colonel Brandon was never actually given a first name! I got my inspiration for his names from a comment by Megan H. on the blog post entitled "A Colonel Brandon by Any Other Name" by Booklady Deb)


	5. Colonel and Mrs. Brandon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He found himself being pushed out the door after only two bites of toast and a swallow of tea. He wondered if Marianne was suffering the same fate at her home.

The wedding was only two days away. Marianne found herself again at Delaford, enjoying a brief respite from the frenzy of wedding planning. She and her betrothed were ensconced in the library, as they often were. The servants were running to and fro, preparing the home for her arrival and were too busy to provide many interruptions to the betrothed couple.

Marianne found herself suddenly ill-at-ease, and it must have become apparent in her playing. She glanced up from the piano to find Colonel Brandon studying her.

“Is anything amiss?” he said, setting his book down.

“I think it is only the many changes that are about to occur in such a short time.”

He gave her a concerned glance. “Will you be sad to quit Barton Cottage?”

She rose from the piano and joined him at the settee. “Only as it means I will not see my family as often.”

He reached over and placed his hand over hers. “They may come visit as often as they please—and they may stay as long as they like. You know they are always welcome.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, wishing she could explain better what she meant. “It is only that it will be different now. I don’t want you thinking I am regretting anything, James. It will simply mean adjusting to a new way of living.”

And with that, she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, delighted to see the way it affected him. A slight flush was creeping up his neck, and he stared for a brief moment at her lips. She knew he was tempted to kiss her, but he was far too proper to do so in front of any passing servants.

Soon, she hoped, they could set aside such proprietary scruples and show affection as man and wife. It was perhaps the biggest change she was most anticipating.

There was a certain amount of physical attraction she had not anticipated, however. She had felt all of these things towards Willoughby, but when partners were equally matched in affection and regard, the feelings only grew more intense with time. And they had certainly intensified between herself and James. Small touches of the hand, shoulders brushing against one another, and stolen kisses in solitary moments—all of these things left her wanting more.

Marianne and Elinor had been educated by their mother, in quite intimate detail, about the nature of the wedding night. While she was a bit lost to the mechanics of it, she had to admit curiosity. And she knew she would be in gentle and capable hands with Colonel Brandon.

“You are very pensive, my dear,” he said, shaking her hand slightly to bring her back to the present moment.

“I _feel_ very pensive, my love,” she said. “But not unhappy.”

\--

It was now the day of the wedding, and Colonel Brandon examined himself in the mirror. His valet Samuel had done a fine job on the styled cravat. There wasn’t a crease out of place or a wrinkle in sight. They were to meet the Dashwoods and extended family at the church in an hour, and despite his ardent wish to arrive on horseback, his valet would hear nothing of it.

“And how is her ladyship expected to arrive to her new home, Sir? On horseback as well?”

Colonel Brandon had given Samuel an indulgent smile. He had been a faithful and trusted servant for over fifteen years. A little impertinence was to be expected, and even encouraged. He liked his servants to know they had a voice.

“Perhaps you’re right, Sam,” he said, giving his valet an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “I’ll take the best carriage, as you suggested.”

He found himself being pushed out the door after only two bites of toast and a swallow of tea. He wondered if Marianne was suffering the same fate at her home.

He had little time to consider any further as he was once again ushered out of the carriage and into the church. He waited at the altar, his anxiety mounting as he glanced around at the faces of gathered family and friends. To be under such scrutiny at such a crucial moment was unnerving.

And then the gathered members rose from their seats. Colonel Brandon gazed down the aisle and met the eyes of his intended. She wore a simple white frock with a lace veil—the one luxury she would allow him to purchase for her. Marianne met his gaze, and it felt as though the other members of the church faded away. It was just the two of them.

Finally, she was beside him, and she placed her hand in his. He didn’t recall much of the ceremony, but soon they had verbalized their promises aloud in front of God and family and sealed their union with a kiss.

They found themselves separated by well-wishers and congratulations, and it wasn’t till three quarters of an hour later that they were able to pull themselves away and steal into the carriage.

A rain of white rose petals signaled their departure, and soon they were leaning back in the cushions of the carriage.

“How do you feel, Mrs. Brandon?”

Marianne sat up suddenly. “Oh, how delightful that sounds! I shall enjoy that distinction very much.”

With a warm smile, he drew her back against the cushions and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It was a privilege he was awarded now, as her husband.

“And to answer your question, I am practically _starving_!”

He laughed at this, and she told him of how her morning began before dawn, and her family was in such a flurry of excitement that she barely had a single bite of bread or cheese before she was ushered out the door.

“I’ll have the servants draw up a large dinner for us,” he said. “I barely ate as well.”

“Who knew getting married could be so exhausting?” She rested her head on his shoulder, and they spent the rest of the ride in this fashion.

On arriving, he insisted on carrying her across the threshold. She demurred at first.

“I am not a delicate rose petal, nor am I made of glass, my love. Is that entirely necessary?”

“It is tradition,” he insisted, but he would not push the issue if she was not entirely comfortable with it.

“Oh, very well,” she said with an indulgent smile. And despite her protests, she smiled up at him the entire journey into the home.

“What will the servants think?” she said once they crossed the threshold.

He released her from his hold and gently set her down. “I sent many of them away. It’s a skeleton crew this evening.”

Her eyes widened at this, and he hoped he had not offended her with this decision. Instead, she leaned forward and drew him in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wedding! Soon, the wedding night...;)


	6. Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was enjoying the indulgence of these little intimacies without fear of reproach. He must have felt similarly, for he reached down and placed a finger under her chin, lifting her face to be kissed.
> 
> (Mature content ahead)

Marianne was shown to a separate bedroom where she could change clothes. She wondered if she would be joining Colonel Brandon in his chambers, but there was no discussion of that at present. They soon reunited and retired to the library, where Samuel and Elizabeth brought up a sizable tray of cold meats, cheese, teacakes, and biscuits. After this, they were largely left to their own devices as the two servants disappeared to the kitchens to work on a proper dinner.

Marianne studied him over the rim of her teacup, and he appeared to have trouble meeting her gaze just then. If he would not look at her, she would simply have to move closer. She stood and joined him on the settee. He set aside his cup and saucer and finally turned to face her fully.

“And so we are married,” she said to him, boldly reaching out and taking his hand in hers.

She was enjoying the indulgence of these little intimacies without fear of reproach. He must have felt similarly, for he reached down and placed a finger under her chin, lifting her face to be kissed.

Marianne let one of her hands trail across his chest and tangle into his elaborate cravat. He grunted again and leaned back, that same expression of hunger touching every feature of his face.

“Why do you pull away?”

He took a steadying breath. “To calm myself before I get—ah—carried away, my dear.”

“Well, but surely that is alright now,” she said with a soft laugh.

“Not exactly _right_ this moment, here in this library.”

She glanced around, seeing the door open to the hallway and watching a servant passing by with an armful of fresh linens.

Marianne sighed. “Yes, you’re right, of course.”

“There will be plenty of time _later_ ,” he said, and she took his meaning.

“I’ve never been very good at waiting for things.”

An odd smile passed over his features, and he appeared on the brink of speaking, but Samuel entered to inform them that dinner would be served in half an hour.

“How shall we pass the time?” Marianne asked, leaning against him and enjoying the warmth that radiated from beneath his vest.

“Perhaps a more comprehensive tour of the home and grounds. You are, after all, the new mistress of Delaford.”

She complied as she had no other alternative except to sit and wait impatiently for time to pass. They made their way through the home where she examined several of the guest rooms she had not observed on her previous visits. She enjoyed seeing the servants’ quarters as well, noticing that they had rather spacious chambers. The kitchen, which was normally abuzz with activity, was rather sedate this evening, as only two or three servants were present. Colonel Brandon had insisted on a simple meal, but the aromas were tantalizing nonetheless.

At last, the bell was rung for dinner and they made their way to the dining room. Colonel Brandon surprised her by insisting the place settings be moved closer rather than keeping with tradition by remaining at opposite ends of a massive table. Dinner was a pleasant affair. Their conversation flowed as easily as it had before, and they continued to enjoy each other’s company.

They finished their meal, and Colonel Brandon suggested they retire to their separate rooms for the present.

“And when you are ready, come and find me,” he said, pausing at the top of the stairs to clasp her hand.

She made her way to her own chambers and changed into a comfortable nightdress. Marianne began to pace, wondering what the proper amount of time was to wait, when there was a sudden knock at the door.

She answered it, smiling when she discovered it was her husband.

“I was on the brink of coming to find you,” she said.

He gazed at her for a moment and took half a step forward, then backwards in retreat. His face was filled with a mixture of uncertainty and anxiety. To spare him any further deliberation, Marianne simply reached forward and tugged at his sleeve until he was inside her room.

She pressed her back against the closed door and examined him fully in the dim afternoon light pouring through her windows.

“I did not want to force myself upon you if you weren’t ready,” Colonel Brandon said.

“You did not force yourself. If you remember, I had to practically drag you in here.”

He gave her a half smile and approached slowly. “You are a remarkable woman, Marianne.”

She took the final step to bridge the gap between them and drew him down for a kiss. He was hesitant at first, seeming to hold back, but the moment she ran her fingers through his hair, he had wrapped her in his arms and was drawing both of them towards the bed.

She felt new sensations as his hands explored parts of her that had only ever been reserved for lady’s maids, tailors, or doctors. Marianne felt something stirring in the pit of her stomach and below, and she suddenly took a notion to try something new.

“Anything the matter, my love?” Colonel Brandon asked as she sat up and stood before him.

“Not at all,” she said, reaching down to begin untangling his cravat and removing it.

She unbuttoned his vest and pulled this over his shoulders, enjoying the sight of his exposed chest. His eyes studied her intently before he, too, reached out and removed the outer shawl of her nightdress. She attempted to remove his shirt, but her hands suddenly began to tremble. They were on the brink of something that she had been anticipating for quite some time.

“Let me,” he said, unbuttoning and pulling the shirt over his head in one fluid motion.

Marianne felt her face turn scarlet at the view of his partially undressed form. And yet the stirring in her stomach pushed her onwards to discover more. She placed her hands on either side of his breeches, and he assisted her with removing these as well. At last, she took in his full form, intrigued with the difference between her mother’s descriptions and the man before her in the flesh.

There was that same hungry look in his eyes, and she at last removed the final piece of her nightgown. They stood before each other with nothing else left to hide.

“Marianne,” he said, his voice husky and low as he drew her towards the bed once more, capturing her in a heated kiss.

He lay on top of her, and she drew him in for a searching kiss, marveling at the delightfully intimate sensation of him pressed so close to her. He began to move against her in a rocking motion, while she allowed her hands to trail down his unclothed form. Her heart was pounding in her ears, keeping time with the bucking of James’ hips.

“Relax, my love,” he said, his voice heady and thick with passion. “This may be a bit painful at first.”

He pressed further and suddenly she felt him inside of her. It was painful and uncomfortable, but she did her best to do as he said, breathing deeply as he moved once more. The expression of pure bliss on his face seemed to release something deep inside the furthest recesses of her most intimate regions, and suddenly the sensations became overwhelming.

She moved with him, seeking more of him as he entered and retreated. Her legs wrapped around him as she craved _more_ and _more_ , and suddenly she was crying out his name. Waves of pleasure swept over her, and he was calling out her name as well. Marianne felt a pulsating heat inside her, and he shuddered above her as the temperature reached a fever pitch. He collapsed beside her, both of them panting and still reeling from the remaining tendrils of pleasure they felt.

Marianne rolled over and placed a hand square in the center of his chest and toyed with the delicate curls of hair she found there.

“James?”

“Yes, Marianne?” he said, meeting her gaze with a soft expression she had never witnessed before.

“I love you.”

He leaned forward and wrapped her in his arms. “I love you, too. More than you will ever know.”

“James Alexander. It is not a competition.” She swatted his chest, and he laughed, pulling her closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really debated whether or not to post this. It's my first attempt at smut, so please be gentle. :) I'm hoping to write at least one more epilogue-type chapter, so stay tuned!


	7. The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sighed with a fond smile and rested her hands atop his. “We’ve been trying, my love.”
> 
> “Then we shall have to try some more.”

Marianne opened the sheet music, anxious to begin exploring the brand new piece. Her fingers hovered over the keys, but the moment before contact, the loudest ruckus erupted from the hallway.

“Meg, no fair! You’re faster!”

“She told us not to do that—you’ll get us all in trouble. Papa!”

This was followed by peals of laughter and screams.

Marianne stood from the piano bench and made her way to the hallway with determined steps.

“Henry and Meg, what are you—” She stopped mid-scold when she caught sight of her husband disappearing down the bannister in a carefree slide.

She ran forward and leaned over the railing to catch sight of him make a less than graceful landing in the bottom foyer.

“James Alexander Brandon!” she cried out, equal parts annoyed and amused.

“You’re in trouble now, Papa,” their son Henry said, staring down at his dad from the middle landing.

Colonel Brandon glanced up in time to catch sight of his wife’s glare.

“Did we disturb your practicing, my love?” he said with such an air of feigned innocence that Marianne could hold back her laughter no longer.

She descended the staircase and stood beside their son. “You see, Henry, this is what happens when you do something reckless. You land on your rear end!”

Their son burst into laughter, which served as a momentary distraction for Meg to slide down the opposite bannister uninterrupted.

Edward and Elinor entered the lower hallway, taking in the scene in time to witness Meg landing in a laughing heap beside Colonel Brandon on the floor.

“What on earth?” Elinor fixed her youngest sister with a wide-eyed look of consternation. “Meg, you are far too old for such antics.”

“I’m old enough to make my own choices,” Meg said, putting her chin in the air as she accepted Colonel Brandon’s hand to rise to her feet.

Elinor had opened her mouth to offer another scold, but she was halted in this attempt as Edward ran up the stairs and soon joined the fray by sliding down the bannister.

“Oh, heavens,” Elinor said, rocking their young daughter in her arms. “What example are you planning to set for young Mary?”

“That sometimes, it’s okay to have a bit of fun,” Edward said, hopping to his feet and bestowing a kiss on each of his daughter’s squealing cheeks.

Marianne raised her hands in the air in surrender, relinquishing the chaos into the mostly capable hands of her husband. She couldn’t help smiling as she returned to her music. After a moment, the door opened and Colonel Brandon entered, moving to stand behind his wife and wrap his arms around her.

“I know we cause a terrible ruckus, my love,” he said apologetically.

“Not a _terrible_ one,” she said, leaning her head back to stare into his face. “It’s the sound of life.”

He let his hands wander and rest on either side of her hips. “I wouldn’t mind adding a bit more life to this house once more.”

She sighed with a fond smile and rested her hands atop his. “We’ve been trying, my love.”

“Then we shall have to try some more.” He leaned down and gave her an ardent kiss, allowing his hands to wander into more intimate areas of her body.

While she was enjoying this immensely, she couldn’t help but be distracted by the shrieks of laughter on the other side of the door. Both of them sighed, promising to continue their romantic endeavors later, and they stood to join the rest of their family.

Marianne watched her husband run forward and catch their son in his arms, spinning in place. Edward and Elinor were lost in admiration of their daughter while Meg ran up the stairs to perform one last feat on the bannister.

Marianne Brandon watched all of this with a fond smile and a realization that there was nothing lacking in her present happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap for these two hopeless romantics! Tell me your thoughts, because I am sorely tempted to write a spin-off examining Margaret's life as she grows into a young woman. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I loved writing it!   
> All my love to you!
> 
> UPDATE: I have now added this story as part of a series - "Know Your Own Happiness" (a quote from Jane Austen herself). The second part follows Margaret, as I promised. :) Enjoy!


End file.
